


Pumpkin Pie

by KiraH69



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, Christmas With Family, Crying, Fluff and Angst, Full Shift Werewolves, Happy Ending, M/M, Pack Christmas, Pre-Nogitsune, Time Skips, post-darach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 07:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13161858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraH69/pseuds/KiraH69
Summary: A child lost in the forest and a wolf that is free for the first time. A Christmas dinner years later and a pumpkin pie.





	Pumpkin Pie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cimila](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cimila/gifts).
  * Translation into Español available: [Pastel de calabaza](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167528) by [KiraH69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraH69/pseuds/KiraH69)



 

Peter was running through the Preserve and he couldn't be happier. The wolf couldn't be happier. He had achieved the full shift for the first time and the wolf could finally run with the freedom he wanted. It was a huge animal, dark brown on the back and head, a little orange on the edges and white on the belly and neck. It was a magnificent creature even if he wasn't as intimidating as his sister.

He felt the earth, the grass and the fallen leaves under his paws and accelerated, pushing his limits. His snout cut through the cold air that shook his dense fur. The moonlight could barely make it through the trees, but his eyes could see as in daytime. He could hear and smell the creatures that inhabited the forest with sharper senses than he had in his human form. They fled from him, from the predator, but the wolf didn't pay any attention to them. He had another objective. He didn't know where he was going, he had given the wolf full control and it was a nice feeling. It didn't wander aimlessly. It seemed to have a goal.

Peter stopped short when he heard a rapid heartbeat. For a moment, he mistook it for the heartbeat of an animal, but then he heard a sob and knew it was human. He approached slowly, hiding in the bushes until he saw the little boy walking in the dark. Peter followed him in silence, listening occasionally to a sob. But the child didn't stop, although he seemed to have no fixed path in mind, he kept turning to one side or the other every few trees. When he saw the kid fall the first time, Peter left his hiding place without thinking. The boy screamed when he saw the wolf and fell on his ass when he was just getting up. Peter stopped in front of him, barely a couple of steps away. The kid remained motionless with his mouth and eyes wide open. There were traces of tears down his cheeks and his eyes were red from crying. Peter wondered how long he had been lost in the forest and what he was doing in the forest in the first place. The boy couldn't be more than eight years old, maybe even less.

He didn't want to scare the kid more than he already was, so Peter lay down on the floor with his head on his paws and gave a sharp whine in question. The boy wiped his eyes with the back of his dirty hands and sniffled.

“Aren't you going to eat me?” the little boy asked, surprisingly calm.

Peter made another sound that made him seem more like a dog than a wolf. It was a bit humiliating, really, but he couldn't leave this child alone in the middle of the woods. The little boy approached on his knees and put a hand on his head, barely hesitating. Peter allowed him to caress him and perhaps closed his eyes when the little fingers scratched behind his ears.

“If you're a wolf you're not very scary. You look like Mrs. Pitts' dog, so maybe you're a dog? You don't have collar, though. If you don't have an owner, you can stay with us. Dad won't like it, but I don't think he'll notice, and Mom isn't going to leave the hospital so if you stay at home she won't know either. Now I just have to find the way back home. Not that I'm lost, just... uh... I'm not entirely sure where I am. Okay, yeah, I'm lost. Don't look at me like that.”

Peter wanted to laugh, but he wasn't sure how it would sound from the mouth of the wolf. He got up and pressed the boy's shoulder with his nose until he also got up.

“Are you going to take me home? Dogs can follow trails, you could follow the trail to my house, though you've never been there, but you could also follow my smell up there.” Peter barked and the boy was startled, but not scared.

“Yeah, I know I talk too much; everyone tells me. I never thought that even a dog would tell me.”

This time he could not help but snort, ignoring that the kid was calling him a dog, and gave him a gentle push on the back to start walking. The boy grabbed at the abundant hair on his neck and walked beside him. The fear was dissipating from his smell as they walked, giving way to a slight tinge of fascination –surely for him–, and to a deep and permanent sadness, like that of those who mourn the loss of a family member. In all his rambling Peter had heard him say that his mother was in the hospital. For a moment he thought she would be a nurse or doctor, but apparently not. And the child was already mourning her even before she died. When he saw the boy shudder with cold, Peter moved a little closer to him, trying to share his warmth.

The boy didn't stop talking the whole way; about school, about his friend Scott (and it seemed that kid was his only friend), about books and random facts that he had read somewhere. Peter didn't have a second to get bored with him and the wolf also seemed happy to spend his first night of “freedom” at his side. He followed the trail of the boy's smell until they reached a small house.

“There it is!” The boy ran excitedly toward the house. When he realized that the wolf wasn't following him, the kid stopped and turned around. “Come on!”

Against his good judgment, Peter followed him. Actually he was somewhat worried, he couldn't hear any heartbeat inside the house, nor were there any people outside or police cars as you would expect with a missing child. Nobody had noticed that the boy was not there. How angry his wolf was at that surprised him.

They entered through the back door directly into the kitchen and the boy went to the refrigerator and took out a milk carton and a chocolate bar.

“But dogs can't eat chocolate... um...” he muttered to himself.

The kid left the chocolate and took out a pan instead. He took a bowl from one of the lower cabinets and climbed up on a chair to get a glass and a plate from above. The little one left everything on the floor and filled the glass and the bowl with milk, offering the latter to the wolf. When the kid uncovered the pan, Peter almost drooled at the delicious smell of pumpkin pie. The boy placed a large piece on the plate and put it next to the bowl of milk while he began to eat directly from the pan.

“Come on, eat. Mom made this pie four days ago, but it's still good.” He took a bite and continued talking with his mouth full. “I don't know if she'll make another so take advantage.”

Peter looked at the pie and then at the boy. Knowing that it was perhaps the last meal cooked by his mother that the little one enjoyed, he felt a bit bad about taking it away. But this was the boy's way of thanking him and he would surely be upset if Peter didn't accept it so he started eating. Peter couldn't contain a shameful moan when he took the first bite. It was delicious, one of the best he had ever tasted, even if the dough was soft because it had been in the fridge and it had run a little dry after so many days. He even licked the crumbs that had remained on the plate and when Peter looked up he found the boy's happy expression. He resigned himself to losing his pride and drank some milk from the bowl.

After the boy finished his part, he put everything in the sink and washed it raised on his knees on the chair. When he came down, drying his hands, he looked at the wolf and then at the door to the backyard, his expression fading.

“Would you stay to sleep tonight?” he asked, looking hopeful.

Peter really should go. He shouldn't even have entered. However, that child was going to be left alone at home after being lost for who knows how long. And, besides, Peter was sure that he hadn't gotten lost just because, something had happened that had led him into the forest to escape.

He moved past the boy into the rest of the house. The little one hugged his neck for a moment with a little happy shout. There were some Christmas decorations in the hallway and he saw more in the living room, but they were very scarce. There wasn't even a tree. There was nothing upstairs or in the child's room. The boy took off his cold, dirty clothes and put on some Batman pajamas while Peter got into the unmade bed. The little one lay down next to him, threw the sheets over them and hugged him. He soon fell asleep with his face buried in his fur and Peter couldn't help but also fall asleep with the soothing sound of his heartbeat even faster than usual in a person.

He soothed the boy when the nightmares came (and Peter wasn't surprised he had them) and left the house in the morning before he woke up. There was no one else in the house yet. It wasn't until hours later that he realized he didn't even know the boy's name.

  


* * * * *

  


Stiles opened the fridge and checked the ingredients he had. He wrote down a couple of other things on the shopping list and left the house. He had been planning Christmas dinner because it wasn't going to be the same as the ones they had celebrated in recent years.

Usually it was just the Sheriff, Scott, Melissa and him. This time Isaac would also join because he was living with the McCalls. Then, he thought of Derek, alone in that cold, impersonal loft after sending Cora to South America, and Peter would not be of help, creeping around him almost like the Ghost of Christmas Past. He sent a text inviting Derek, leaving the werewolf no option to refuse. It took him longer to decide if he should invite Peter too, but since he had come back to life the Zombie Wolf hadn't behaved badly at all and had even fought by their side against the Alpha Pack and the Darach so he thought that even the Grinch deserved an invitation for Christmas (Stiles didn't think he'd come and wasn't going to force him). He regretted it when he received his response text: “There I will be, darling.”

He thought about inviting Chris and Allison, but that certainly was not a good choice with Derek and Peter there. He didn't want to have to clean blood from the walls and the decision was easy between them, no matter what Scott said. He invited Lydia too, but the banshee already had plans for that night.

Therefore, there would be three more at the table so he had to prepare more food than usual. He decided to prepare a few different dishes instead of making more of the same food he usually prepared (except for the turkey that would have to be larger). He also had to keep in mind that the new guests were all werewolves (Scott included) and ate double the amount of a normal person. He grunted as he realized that this dinner was going to be more expensive than usual.

Stiles arrived at the supermarket, which was full of Christmas spirit. A carol playing on the loudspeakers, the cashiers in Santa hats and the store decorated from top to bottom with Christmas decorations. Some normality and joy felt good after the year they had suffered. He began to fill the cart with the items on his list. Stiles could see the final bill increase in his head so he spent long minutes choosing each product, weighing price and quality.

“I don't think it's that hard to choose some peas.”

Stiles was startled to hear Peter's voice just behind him and he almost dropped both cans to the ground.

“Fuck, don't do that!“ he hissed through his teeth.

When he turned around, Peter stared at him with a mixture of surprise and horror. Well, more precisely he was staring at his sweater. A horrid thing in green and red stripes with small, white spaceships and helmets alternating in each row and a black Darth Vader helmet on the chest.

“Where is your plaid?” he asked, because that was better than what he was seeing.

“Hey! Do not mess with my Star Wars sweater! Scotty gave it to me last year and he hasn't even seen the movies, it means a lot to me.”

Peter shook his head and decided to ignore it no matter how much it threatened his fashion sense.

“This is what you are going to use for dinner? You couldn't have chosen anything cheaper,” he said, glancing at the car.

“My apologies, but some of us are not rich heirs. I have to prepare a dinner for seven, four of which eat twice as much as a normal human being. I have to be careful with the budget.

Peter rolled his eyes as if he had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“I'm not going to accept your money.”

“It's not _my_ money, it's the pack's money,” Peter took out a card and offered it to him. “It is a fund for when the pack needs something and, since everyone in this dinner is part of the pack directly or by association, it's a good time to use it.”

“A fund for the pack? We really have something like that?” He looked at the card with his mouth open.

“Of course. I can't believe that Derek hasn't given you your own card. I'll take care of that. I understand that he doesn't mention it to the others, but you are responsible. You can also use it when you have to fix the jeep after some encounter with a creature, which I think happens quite often. Keep that card until I get yours. The PIN is your birthday.”

“My birth- Why is the PIN my birthday?”

Peter shrugged and left both pea cans on the shelf.

“Fresh ingredients are better.”

He took the cart (Stiles' cart), placed his own basket inside, and started down the aisle. Unintentionally, Stiles finished picking out the groceries with Peter, who forced him to forget the price and to pay attention to the quality of the products. They argued about which jelly they should buy or which flour was better, as if that were the most normal thing in the world. Stiles felt he had entered a parallel universe and it was hard to shake off the daze. He ended up buying more than he had planned and Peter helped him load everything in the back before getting into his jeep. _Peter_ got into _Stiles'_ jeep.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked from behind the wheel.

“You have to make a lot of food; I think I'll give you a hand.”

“You want to poison the food, right?” He didn't really think so, but this was suspicious anyway.

“No, Stiles, I'm not going to poison the food,” Peter replied as if Stiles was being especially dense. “But I'm a great cook, if I may say so, and I often used to cook for the pack for these type of occasions.”

“You're so modest,” Stiles decided to stay with that part of the sentence because the other was too close to sentimental issues for his liking. It wasn't usual to hear the werewolf speak of his family before the fire. Even so, Stiles treasured these little bits of knowledge every time they escaped one of the Hales.

He started the car and headed home. When they arrived, he let Peter carry most of the bags because, well, he was the one with the super strength and he had volunteered. Peter looked surprised at the Christmas ornaments that filled the house: a wreath on the door, garlands on the pictures, a large tree in a corner of the living-room colorfully decorated (not like those pretentious trees that appear in the magazines) and even ornaments hanging from lamps. The only thing missing was the mistletoe, thank god.

Stiles placed the recipes he was cooking today on the doors of the upper cupboards (he would make most of them the next day so that they were fresh, like the turkey, but others could be made the previous day) and prepared the utensils. It was surprisingly easy to cook with Peter, they moved around the other as if they had been doing it for years and the werewolf showed him some cooking tricks he didn't know. Cooking was always fun for him, but doing it while exchanging comments and sarcasm with the werewolf was even better.

By the time they finished, it was already late and they had dinner together with a little of each dish they had cooked.

“Am I becoming the pack mom?” Stiles asked and smiled when Peter nearly choked.

“Excuse me?”

“You know. The person who cooks and cares for everyone, like a mother,” the boy explained, moving the fork around.

“There isn't... No, Stiles, there is no 'pack mom', I don't know where you got that from,” Peter said, sighing with the same tiredness every time he mentioned something taken from the fanfics he read.

“Why not? I don't mind that role. I like to cook and I'm always worrying about everyone.”

“Even if you're the one who gets into the most trouble?”

“That's not proven. Besides, who else could it be? Scott'd burn fried eggs, Derek's barely able to take care of himself and Isaac is dragging around too much trauma from his father. I think I'll keep that role and you'd be the dad.”

One... two... three...

“I mean, not that you and I- I don't mean that. Just that you, well, you're the one who knows things and- Forget it, there's no pack mom.” Stiles put a big spoonful in his mouth to stop talking, his cheeks a bright red.

Peter was trying to contain the laugh, but his shoulders shook with it.

When they finished dinner they cleaned everything and Peter took his leave.

“I'll be back early tomorrow to lend you a hand.” He leaned forward and brushed his cheek against Stiles' in an obvious gesture to scent him. Stiles was so surprised that he couldn't say anything before Peter left, closing the door behind him. He felt the heat that Peter had left on his cheek spread all over his face.

He left a plate prepared for his dad in case the sheriff wanted to have dinner when he arrived. Then, Stiles went to bed thinking how strange it was to feel Peter's presence in the kitchen as almost comforting, how easy it was to talk to him, how nice the brief moments in which they touched were. A hand on his back, their arms brushing, their fingers touching as they went to grab something. It had been so natural. Stiles was surprised when he found himself waiting eagerly for the next day to continue with it.

The next day, he barely had time to say goodbye to his dad before the sheriff left home for his morning shift. Noah hadn't rested for even eight hours, but he wanted to be free for dinner. A couple of minutes after he left, someone knocked on the back door and there was Peter.

“Were you waiting for my father to leave?”

“I didn't want to receive death threats first thing in the morning.”

Stiles looked him up and down. It was seven thirty and the guy was perfectly dressed and styled as always. Stiles yawned and ran a hand through his bedhead as he scratched his belly under his worn t-shirt.

“I hate you. How can you look so good at this hour? That's not legal,” he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Why?”

“Because you think I look good.”

Stiles should totally close his mouth while his brain-mouth filter was still deactivated.

“That's not, I haven't... It's too early for this, I need caffeine,” he took a long sip of his sugar-laden coffee and poured himself another cup.

“You need an actual breakfast. Why don't you go take a shower while I prepare it?”

“Are you going to become the pack mom?” Stiles bumped his shoulder against Peter's with a sleepy laugh and it took him several seconds to realize what he had done; his face turning red and his heart racing. “I'm going to take a shower.” He heard a soft laugh behind him, but didn't stop.

After breakfast (and Peter could make him breakfast whenever he wanted. _Thank god I didn't say that out loud_ , his filter was finally working), they set to work with the rest of the dishes for dinner.

Hours later, in the dining room adorned from top to bottom for the occasion and with a carol in the background, the table was full of food and everyone was sitting around it. Noah was at the head, Stiles on his left, followed by Scott and Isaac, Peter on his right (because they knew that Stiles and he were going to start arguing with each other at any moment and it didn't make sense for them to do it from the other end of the table so they always sat like that when the pack met), followed by Derek and Melissa.

Both werewolves and humans devoured the food –luckily Stiles had cooked more than he had planned– while the conversation flowed with surprising ease after the first few minutes. It was funny to see how Melissa forced complete sentences from Derek and he didn't seem upset about it.

When the main courses were finished, Peter and Stiles picked up what was left, leaving it in the kitchen to put it in plastic containers later, and took out the desserts with coffee and some liquor (Peter had brought a special one mixed with wolfsbane for the werewolves).

“Son, it was a fantastic dinner,” his father said, patting him on the shoulder. “I don't know how you managed to do all this.”

“Peter helped me with everything so it took me less time than I expected,” Stiles answered smiling as he cut the pumpkin pie and handed it out. I think that next year I'll start two days before, though. Usually there are leftovers for two or three days after these dinners, but you have barely left enough for tomorrow.

Scott and Isaac blushed a little, neither had expected to eat so much, but they hadn't been able to stop. Stiles really didn't mind, he was happy to share tonight with everyone and make them happy with his cooking. He had never spent Christmas dinner with so many people.

After serving everyone, Stiles took a bite of his portion of pie and hummed satisfied with the result, a soft smile spreading across his face accompanied by memories of his childhood. He was glad to see the somewhat melancholy smile on his father's face.

“It's as delicious as your mother's,” Peter said.

Stiles froze just like Noah.

“How... How do you know...” His hand was shaking and his voice didn't want to come out for the knot in his throat.

“Don't you remember? When you got lost in the woods?” the werewolf said, with an almost fond expression on his face that Stiles had never seen before.

Stiles let out a strangled sob, his eyes moistening. The wolf. That wolf who had accompanied him home and had slept with him, keeping him company on one of the worst days of his life after his mother entered the hospital for good. When he had woken up, he had thought that it had been nothing more than a product of his imagination, an imaginary friend to help him spend those moments. The nightmares didn't disappear, but the wolf was by his side from time to time and they were never so terrible again.

He got up almost knocking the chair down and went around the table behind his father, practically jumping on Peter. Stiles wrapped his arms around the werewolf's shoulders, hugged him tightly, and buried his face in his neck, sobbing silently. Peter's hands caressed his back and his hair, comforting him while the other guests remained silent.

When he was able to control himself, Stiles got up and returned to his place without a word. He wiped his face with his napkin and took a deep breath, straightening his back.

“Ok, enough tears for today, let's finish dinner,” he said and kept determinedly eating his piece of pie.

Nobody asked anything, even though he knew that his father would do it when they were alone. Noah would understand it as soon as Stiles explained it to him and there would be more tears.

After dinner, the guests began to leave until only Noah was watching television in the living room, allowing a moment of privacy to Peter and Stiles while they cleaned the kitchen.

“Why didn't you tell me before?” Stiles asked as he put away the leftovers.

“Your smell was different at the time, I didn't know it was you until I came here one day and by then I was part of your nightmares.”

Stiles wiped his hands and left the dish towel on the counter with a determined expression on his face. He took Peter's hand and led him to his room. Stiles knelt by the bed and pulled out a box from underneath. There were several objects inside, all valuable to him, and among them a brown and white stuffed wolf. He took it with affection and hugged it. Peter watched him without words.

“You can't imagine how important that night was for me. How I cried the next few days until my father bought me this wolf and how I hugged it every night until I fell asleep. I had it in my lap when my mother died.” His broken voice was barely audible even to the werewolf and there were tears streaming silently down his cheeks.

“It was also an important night for me. It was the first time I managed to shift into a wolf, the first time I ran freely in that form,” he stepped closer and closer until he could place his hands on Stiles' arms, letting the boy know he was there if he needed him.

“And you had to spend it with a lost child,” he tried to laugh, but it was just a sob.

“I spent it where I had to. I let my wolf free, I let him guide me and he took me to you. In the same way that I felt attracted to you that fateful night years later, even when I ended up biting the wrong person,” and how much he regretted it, but at the same time Peter knew that today he wouldn't have dined with Stiles and his family if he had bitten the boy. “I was happy taking care of you.”

Stiles squeezed the stuffed animal tightly in his arms and let himself fall against Peter's chest, the werewolf's arms surrounding him right away. He felt safe just as he had felt that night with the wolf watching over his sleep, it soothed his heart in more ways than one, his tears ceasing and his breathing filling his lungs as it was supposed to.

“I'm going to ask you something and if you say no, nothing will happen, everything will remain the same,” Peter said in a soft voice caressing his hair.

“Yes,” Stiles answered without hesitation.

“You still don't know what I'm going to ask you.”

“Do you want to go out with me? On a date?” Stiles said keeping his head on his shoulder.

Peter laughed and hugged him harder, rubbing his face against his neck and breathing not so discreetly in his scent, _pumpkincinnamonstormbooksmine_.

“My smart boy.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, Cimila :)  
> I'm Spanish so I wrote it in Spanish and then translated it myself. I had SterekGirl's help as a beta (thank you very much!).


End file.
